Bunker takes some effort to get to, nestled as it is among concrete plants, auto body shops, and warehouses, near where Brooklyn becomes Queens, or vice versa. The restaurant's true name, “bún-ker,” is a play on the word bún, Vietnamese vermicelli noodles, pronounced boon. But everyone calls it "bunker," a reminder of how secluded you are while eating there.
The chef sharpened his knives at Eleven Madison Square Park, but here serves Vietnamese street food. We're not sure we've seen cellophane noodles so, well, clear as in the summer rolls (top), stuffed to almost breaking with cilantro, noodles, and shrimp.
A special, the Duroc ribs (above) barely stayed on the bone, the meat instead slipping into the broth, making for a substantive soup. It ain't pretty (obviously), but the savory-sweet mix of the meat and coconut makes you favor personality over looks.
Beneath a mass of chopped peanuts and tomatoes and lettuce and dill were long noodles and a perfectly marinated piece of salmon. The combination of the dill and the noodles gave the dish an unusual east-meets-far-east flair, typical of the bold and intriguing flavors you can find at Bunker, assuming you can find it at all.